


and we kissed as though nothing could fall

by actonbell



Series: we can be heroes [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies) RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Awkward Sex, Biting, Car Sex, Clumsy Sex, Deep Throating, Dom Sebastian, Dom/sub, Gentle Dom, Hand Jobs, Light Angst, M/M, Marking, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Pining, Semi-Public Sex, Sub Chris, Switching, Top Sebastian, unlocked doors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-10 18:03:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7855447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actonbell/pseuds/actonbell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People have tried to get him out of his head, from his mother to a goddamn guru in India, and nothing has ever worked (why would it? wherever he goes, there he is, like the cliche says).</p><p>Except one thing. One thing's worked. One thing has gotten him all the way out of his head, into the world, like nothing else ever has.</p><p>He puts his face in his hands, rubs at his eyes hard, tries a couple of deep breaths. He wants another drink -- he certainly doesn't have anywhere to be tomorrow -- but he doesn't want to turn the lights on, which is pretty sad. He figures he can indulge himself in one night of crying and eating ice cream, like his sisters would put it, although nothing's really happened. It's certainly not like they've <em>broken up,</em> they weren't even together. It was maybe a friends-with-benefits fling, like he'd suspected in the beginning -- he's sure he and Seb are still friends, they always were, that happened first and won't change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rana Eros (ranalore)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ranalore/gifts).



> YES, I'm finally updating it this story again! This was supposed to be chapter one, out of four, but it grew so big (that's what she said) I decided to split it into two chapters, because it just felt weird having one 10K chapter when most of the rest are 5K or so. I know it ends on a little bit of a cliffhanger, sort of, I'm sorry, but to make up for that I will post chapter two this Friday. After that I hope to keep posting chapters on Fridays until this is done -- there's this last story, and then an epilogue. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who kept reading and kudosing and commenting! It really helped me keep writing. I am shit at responding to comments, which I apologize for, but I do read them all. 
> 
> Like I said in the A/N for [my MCU Rolling Remix story,](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7318264) I don't usually reveal personal details in fannish space, but my mom died at the end of this past March and I was pretty shattered. It was hard for me to do anything, much less write. I just wanted to explain why there's been such a long delay in my picking this back up, and why it must've seemed to people like it might never be finished (because it certainly seemed that way to me). 
> 
> So thank you again to everyone who commented but also very sweetly didn't pressure me at all, but made it clear you'd really like to read the rest of the story.

"Happiness, not in another place but this place....not for another hour, but this hour." ― Walt Whitman

 

Chris never went to college full-time, never got a degree, which still grates on him, rasps at the back of his head sometimes, but he thinks maybe the temporary clans that form during semesters or quarters -- not as reliable as family, not as affectionate as friends -- might be like what happens on movie sets. It's not exactly like theatre, because that always stays in one place, and you make it new every day, _like bread or a newspaper_ one of his teachers used to say, all the emphasis is on keeping the play fresh, making the recitation of memorized words and actions look normal, natural. And if you get attached to one place in particular, it's the same crew doing makeup, lighting, costumes, scenery, or a small rotating bunch of them, familiar faces for months at a time. Actors talk about productions they've been in like they were actual places, stops on a train. _That was when we were in_ The Cherry Orchard. _No, that was later, before that was_ As You Like It. _I thought Angie was in that, hadn't she left already by then? No, she left after that, because she got a grant to get the Advanced Theatre degree at A.R.T. Oh, yeah. I thought she'd been around longer._ Actors joke about show families and show crushes, but to Chris shows really do have a little bit of magic in them. You come together with a group of people, you do something that's bigger than yourself, than all of you, that happens each night with the audience being part of it too, and it's unique to _this_ group of people on _that_ night and each night is something you can't actually ever repeat the same again, not the _exact_ same thing. It can't be captured, only experienced. Alchemy.

And of course, when you're onstage, you just focus on yourself and your fellow actors, and the words, and the house lights are _down_ and you can't see the fucking audience, all those eyes trained on you. Not to mention the absence of cameras, which during filming are huge and gleaming and always _right there,_ circling and pulling in and zooming out in what sometimes looks to Chris like a weird slow-motion complicated modern dance, man and machine. He got used to cameras early when he did TV as a teenager -- God, what, _decades_ ago now? He doesn't even see them anymore. But he's never gotten used to how they hang over you, greedily sucking everything up, recording every last little fuckup and hesitation for all time, to be dissected and argued over later by directors, producers, writers, editors, focus groups, test audiences, film buffs who corner you years later and say _Do you know Cap's route that he runs at the beginning of the movie doesn't make any sense? -- Oh, wow, no, I guess I never thought of it that way._ What Chris always wants to say is _Of course it doesn't make sense, it was put together by a bunch of execs in_ Hollywood. _I just ran where they told me to because they thought it looked good._

Movies are fix-up jobs by nature, patched together here and there, sequence A rewritten so it fits better with scene N, one bit moved from the first half-hour of the film to the top of the second hour, _no, that still doesn't work, cut it down to five minutes, what about three, then we need to bring him back to loop that first line -- Do it._ Marvel loves nothing so much as it loves editing and dubbing and reshoots. You never get to see the whole thing, not while you're in it, making it; it's the opposite of being in a play, time rushing like a river all around you, nothing you can do to stop or call it back. With movies you do it again, and again, and one more time _just because,_ over and over, and you see the finished product when it's done, along with everybody else, when you're another spectator. You get in, you do your work, you give your best, and by the time it comes out a year later it's already a whole different thing, it belongs to somebody else. That's a big part of why he's always wanted to write, to direct, to feel the whole story in his hands, something he can almost touch. To be in control.

(He doesn't want to think about needing control, giving it up, giving himself over, to Sebastian. Not now.)

You can go for years in Hollywood without seeing the same crew again -- not the actors and directors, anyway, and when you do it's something special, something you should appreciate, be thankful for. He knows he's lucky, having had Scarlett in his life for so many years, and now Hayley, Mackie and Robert and....It's not like he'll never see these people again, _Infinity Wars_ is going to start shooting in less than a year -- less than eight months even -- and the freedom, although illusory, feels intoxicating. He knows, already, that what he'll be remembered for, if he's remembered at all, is being Cap; if he's lucky, maybe the obits will mention a couple of other roles too. And he _is_ lucky, he knows that, he believes it. He doesn't resent the role, exactly, not the work -- but he's never gone a full year, since 2010, without putting that goddamn costume on. People have wryly suggested to him that he use the feeling, in a Method way -- and he knows writers love to do profiles where Robert _is_ Iron Man, staging a triumphant comeback after nearly drowning, Mackie _is_ Falcon, emerging from the shadows in his own right, and, of fucking course, Chris Evans _is_ Cap, conquering his own limitations to become a full-hearted superhero -- but the costume doesn't just mean the role, has never meant just meant the role. Acting has never been the problem. It's all the rest of it, being the dancing monkey on the spangle circuit, just like Steve. He knows the premieres look like fun, everyone glammed up and smiling, jetting off to exotic cities, but for him half an hour of walking the red carpet is like going barefoot on hot coals. He doesn't mind junkets, especially with a partner -- he does really likes meeting fans, one-on-one. That always feels like they're giving him something, not the other way around. But premieres are overwhelming: he's surrounded. It's not like the movies where you can fight off one opponent at a time.

Even without the publicity machine, signing up with Marvel is like going into the Army: they own you. There are Cap dolls, Cap action figures, Cap collectibles, Cap _potato chip bags._ They can sign him up for cameos, send him on tour, Hell, they know he can dance and sing -- he's only surprised he hasn't _actually_ been asked to knock out an actor playing Hitler. (Yet.) And he knows he doesn't handle longer interviews well, he never has. Being silly about the end product with Hemsworth or Scarlett is basically fun, talking about his experience in the movies or what he thinks of the comics and Cap's legacy is fine, but acting like he gives a flying fuck when someone asks him stupid questions about stupid personal shit just freaks him out -- there's no other word for it. _Who are you? What right do you have to ask me about my life like that? And why am I letting it happen?_ And it's like that internal agitation sets off the fucking social anxiety, and his brain's off to the goddamn races and spiralling down the drain. He tries not to despise the L.A. culture while living off it, like so many other actors he knows, he wants to be honest about what he's doing, keep his eyes open. But he knows it's bad for him.

Theatre is work, but there's no press junkets for a play. You do your work, it's a whole action, like cooking and eating a meal, then _you go home,_ it's over. But movies feel like a job: meetings, contracts, salary negotiations, story discussions, blocking out months of his life on a calendar years in advance: principal photography, location shooting, reshoots, commuting....Being honest, yeah, sometimes he loves it: the money, the opportunities, the chance to bring a national icon to life, to not fuck around for the rest of his life with one midlist flop or indie "gem" after another. But sometimes he drives down Sunset and feels physically sick. Sick of the whole circus. People have tried to get him out of his head, from his mother to a goddamn guru in India, and nothing has ever worked (why would it? wherever he goes, there he is, like the cliche says).

Except one thing. One thing's worked. One thing has gotten him all the way out of his head, into the world, like nothing else ever has.

He puts his face in his hands, rubs at his eyes hard, tries a couple of deep breaths. He wants another drink -- he certainly doesn't have anywhere to be tomorrow -- but he doesn't want to turn the lights on, which is pretty sad. He figures he can indulge himself in one night of crying and eating ice cream, like his sisters would put it, although nothing's really happened. It's certainly not like they've _broken up,_ they weren't even together. It was maybe a friends-with-benefits fling, like he'd suspected in the beginning -- he's sure he and Seb are still friends, they always were, that happened first and won't change.

If movie shoots are like a tiny island, a castle in the air suspended by hundreds of grown-ups playing pretend, like the audience in a movie theatre letting themselves forget the feats of Earth's Mightiest Heroes are mostly stuntmen and green screens, reshoots are like that too, but fucking squared. Reshoots always seem to last forever, even when they're just a couple of weeks, because they're such a fucking grind, so it's always almost a little bit of a surprise when they start winding down, reality seeping slowly back in -- people leaving town, one by one or in groups, already talking about coming back here for _Infinity Wars_ but going home to their families, or other projects, first -- so maybe it shouldn't be such a big surprise this....thing....with Seb is winding down too. It's not that Seb's being an asshole, he couldn't do that if he tried, he's just pulled back some, the way Chris has seen him do so often in social situations. Seb will still be listening, he'll answer questions when asked, it's not _rude,_ it's part of how he deals with his anxieties, the echoes from his own past. Chris knows that. He knows Seb's not letting him down, exactly, but there are fewer and fewer scenes to fix, fewer people around, fewer meetings with the directors and writers, everything wrapping up. He's letting his agent worry about the re-upping and the money -- he's already confessed in interviews that, as infamously scared as he was to sign on with Marvel in the first place, now he's scared to leave. It's not for the old reasons he talked about so many times, losing his anonymity, being typecast forever, selling his freedom to be Marvel's puppet -- most of which hasn't happened, anyway. It's that familiar lesson he went over in therapy maybe fifty, a hundred times, about how you can get so focused on what you think will go wrong, so spun up, that you're completely blindsided by what actually happens. That's him. He never even saw it coming -- he couldn't know, didn't even know to wonder about, when he signed that first contract.. This has changed his life, like it changed Robert's, and Tony and Joe's, and -- he'd thought -- Sebastian's.

Would he have done it, if he'd known, if he'd been able to see himself like this, unhappy and confused, so far in the future? But, if you somehow could know the consequences of your actions, you'd never do anything -- you wouldn't act, ever, you'd freeze. He's believed that his whole life. Everything good he's ever done has been based on leaps of faith. Like that first night with Sebastian, which doesn't hurt to think about, really, but it's....changed. Hell, it's not like they've been able to keep their hands off each other, even now when they can both feel the wheels on the ride slowing down, starting to drag and preparing for the stop at the end.

There'd been one time in the backseat of someone else's car way the fuck out in the huge backlot, by the hardwood forest and river's pond, the fragrance of pine trees sharp and heady in the night like perfume, pure fantasy fuel like something that had _never_ happened in high school, someone gorgeous telling him how good he was while they kissed him and pulled his cock out through his briefs and jeans, saying they couldn't wait to suck it. Seb's mouth was hot and slick next to the cold metal edges of his zipper, and Chris had banged his head by accident on the window frame, so Seb had reached back, his thin shirt hiking up so Chris saw the ridges of muscles on his stomach, and shoved open the back door so they could stretch their legs out and he could brace himself with one foot outside on the ground while he sucked Chris off. Chris's hands had wandered, he hadn't wanted to pin Sebastian down; he rested one hand lightly on Seb's left shoulder, curved it around to feel the sharp blade of bone almost buried in the new muscle and flesh Seb had brutally packed on for this film, let his other hand move down Seb's neck and his arm until he felt Seb's hand. Seb had suddenly curled his fingers up under Chris's, lacing them together, and just that small moment of joining had pushed Chris over the edge. He'd been louder than he should have been, especially since they were _right fucking outside,_ but Seb had lightly sucked and licked his cock until it was clean of every last drop, then slithered backwards out of the car, dragging Chris with him, so they could see the stars, Chris struggling to zip himself back up one-handed.

They'd stood there still holding hands, like goddamn teenagers, pointing constellations out to each other -- Sebastian remembered more of the names and the stories behind them, but Chris was better at recognizing the patterns -- and Chris had known, without letting himself put it into words at all, that he was happy. _Perfectly happy,_ the sort of happiness you told glowing smug-ass stories about later, with someone, both of you finishing each other's sentences because it was too good to let one person tell it all alone. Which was an immensely sappy thought, even for him, and he'd also been terrified. Terrified mainly that he'd fuck it up somehow, which was really fucking sad. He'd seen a quote online, recently, something about real happiness being just like that -- not feeling like you should be somewhere else, doing something else, being someone else. He'd been in the moment, and _scared_ of it. But it had been okay, out in the warm velvet night, the air so heavy with water you could practically taste it, the sounds of the woods all around and the heavens brilliant above them. Because Seb had been with him.

A few months before the reshoots, Chris had been in a meeting with some producer who had actually said, smirking, _Show me a content man, and I'll show you a failure._ He'd clenched his hands into fists underneath the table to keep from getting up and walking out right there (his agent had said his feelings were written plain as day on his face, anyway). He hates the way nobody's ever content, _at peace,_ sometimes not in the whole Western world it seems, how everything's a giant ratrace that never ends and you're only as good as whatever's happened to you the last fifteen minutes. Zero-sum, black or white, win or lose. That's not the way it is in other places in the world, places he's visited and wants to go back to, and it's not the way he wants to live the rest of his life, wherever that ends up being. He knows you can't be that happy, or _content,_ all the time, or most of it. Hell, given his basic personality, he might not last three months trying to live deliberately and _simplify, simplify, simplify_ before running back and begging and pleading to be running the races again. But the possibility of that contentment isn't only what he wants anymore, it's what he needs. Without it he won't be happy.

He thinks a lot of a line Joss wrote for him in _Ultron,_ which he'd tried to deliver with resigned honesty, nothing broad or self-pitying. _Family, stability....the guy who wanted all that went into the ice seventy-five years ago. I think someone else came out._ That's the truth of Steve's life, and Steve knows it. Sometimes when Chris is trying to wrest the conversation back from yet another reporter who wants to give his life Cap's through-line becase it makes for a great article, he feels like asking them, _And what do you think it's like for the guy wearing the mask?_ But so far he's managed not to say it out loud, at least. People say life is short, but it isn't, not really; what life mostly is, is wasted. Wasted running after the wrong things.

He and Sebastian hadn't seen much of each other alone for three days after that night under the stars and the pines, until a filthy makeout session in Chris's trailer with the blinds down and all the lights off, Chris up against the locked door with Seb's hands on his bare chest thumbing Chris's nipples, Seb's hands tight in his hair, pinning his head back and to the side while Seb barely traced the outline of Chris's ear with the very tip of his tongue, Seb kneading and then gripping Chris's ass so he could lift Chris up and Chris could wrap his legs around Seb's waist and just hold on, suspended completely off the ground, which he'd never done with anyone else before, ever. It had felt dangerously good, like he'd do anything for it, anything to keep it going as long as possible. Neither of them had even come, they'd clung together, damp and panting in the dark, thrusting and kissing like teenagers locked in an upstairs bedroom with the shades drawn after school.

Later that night they'd sprawled on Seb's bed, Seb half-watching _Band of Brothers_ for the tenth or fifteenth time, shooting the shit and sharing some beers, later switching to Jack and Coke. Sebastian had poured the shots into their cans like Chris hadn't done since at least senior year. He'd made Sebastian laugh by telling him how one young distracted PA had asked him "What kind of Coke do you want?" before getting a round of sodas. Then he'd actually fallen asleep, his head on Seb's shoulder, and woken up with a stiff neck, Sebastian softly telling him the show was over. Chris had been more than a little drunk and his neck had started to throb, so he'd stumbled off to his own room and sprawled on top of the quilt without undressing, or taking off his shoes, which had felt _really_ strange when he'd woken up. That quick-change bag Seb gave him is still stashed in Seb's room, but Seb hadn't suggested that Chris sleep over, and Chris knows it was effort, not instinct, that got him up and out of Seb's bed, down the hall and into his own, instead of asking to stay, or staying without asking, even, taking it for granted Seb would want him.

One of his teachers used to say acting was living honestly within a set of imaginary circumstances. He and Seb are both in imaginary circumstances, have been for a while now, but they're not being honest about what they're doing within it. It's not that he thinks this is Brokeback Pinewood or something, he's as much at fault as Seb might be, for not saying anything. Seb isn't being mean, or rude, just....indecisive. Except even that implies someone who's caught between two or more options, not floating along without choosing at all. Chris can understand, and at the same time, he's been ruefully thinking of girls he knew who he would apologize to, now, if he could. But the fucked-up thing is he's also caught Seb looking at him a couple of times with such longing, it goes through Chris like a knife. It's not just the fucking, or the deeper thing between them _(you belong to me, tell me whatever you want and I'll give it to you, please tell me, you're mine, I want all of you and you're mine)_ , but the affection, ease, _intimacy_ he guesses, surprisingly natural, close and warm and constant, like a fire. Neither one of them apparently knows what the fuck to do with that, so they're backing away, slowly but steadily. It's not even going to end, really -- well, the fucking obviously will, but they're still going to act in the same films. It looks like an ending, with the reshoots finishing up, but in reality there's going to be a short break, and then the press tour, and then a longer break, and then shooting _Infinity Wars_ for God knows how long, and then _that_ press tour.

He's too scared to ask Seb if Seb just doesn't want them fucking while they're working together, but after yesterday, he wouldn't be surprised, can even understand why. It was the very last scene they'd had together, in the whole shoot, which had been planned but not fully written out. The Russos had let him and Seb almost improvise some, the way they had with the "reunion scene" in Bucky's Bucharest hideout, and while Chris normally loves that stuff, it felt like he'd done nothing but try not to get upset, and wound up way too stiff as a result. Everyone else seemed happy with it, though, so he'd tried his best to get into it, trying to feel his way into Steve's armour going back up, the refusal to bleed in plain sight, but he'd never gotten there. All he had to do, for fuck's sake, was stand there and exhange a few lines with Seb, CGI marks everywhere, people all around, and no wonder Seb had been drawing back, if this weirdness was what he'd been afraid of. It felt impossible, and they didn't have to touch once. They were surrounded by the goddamn green walls again -- he checked the monitor in between takes and was weirded out by how angelic Seb looked all in white, almost sacrificial -- and all Chris could do was try to hold back the bleedthrough, or hell, _hide_ it, try to keep Steve's tone as strong and reassuring as he could, but the dumb feeling of actual loss, like he really was saying goodbye forever to his best friend, got worse with each take. He kept telling himself it was in character, so it had to work, upsetting or not. He's not as method as Sebastian is (sometimes he thinks nobody's as method as Sebastian is), but he tried to think what Steve would be thinking, right at that moment: _this is good, he'll be at peace, he wants this. I have to give it to him. He deserves it after all this, it's what he needs._ But he felt more and more off every time he asked _You sure about this?_ Seb just kept bringing it, like an actual professional, each version a little different: wistful, sad, quietly brave, reassuring, painfully honest, hopeful, resigned. The Russos said they wanted the next-to-last-take, where he and Seb had both felt wrung out, and it showed. Chris didn't like it, but he knew he couldn't fix it, and he can never see his own work objectively anyway, so maybe it's not actually that bad, but he doesn't want to see it onscreen for a while. Maybe not until the premieres, if that won't spin him up too much.

While people were setting up for some coverage after that last bit, mostly close-ups and no two-in-ones -- there weren't a lot of shots with him and Seb in the same frame, but Chris had tried to let the disconnect work for him, trusted everyone else knew what they were doing because he sure as fuck didn't -- Seb had quietly reached out and touched his bare skin, above his wrist. It sent a jolt through Chris, but he'd managed to keep still, even fake a smile.

"Hey, man."

"Hey," Chris said, then ran out of words, looking in Sebastian's too-big eyes, pools to drown in, like he'd been doing all day.

"Almost over."

Chris hadn't been able to smile again, had just said "Yeah," too emphatically, and then there had been some technical fussing and it really had been all over. A few people actually stopped him on the way out to say how moving they'd found the scene, watching it raw like this, and while Sebastian had gone shy and humble like he always did in the face of open praise, Chris had thought of his own discomfort and bitterly remembered that old joke: _My dear boy, why not try_ acting? But he'd said thank you to all the compliments, signed mementos, applauded with the rest of the crew at "Last wrap for Sebastian Stan," and then slipped away quietly while Seb was swallowed up by all the handshakes and hugs and well-wishing. The costume he was in for that last little bit was nothing fancy, almost regular clothes, so it was a quick change and he was gone.

He'd thought so, anyway, but Seb had surprised him halfway down an empty corridor, coming up in that quiet way he has -- Chris doesn't know exactly how Sebastian does it, but he knows how to make a fast exit. Usually he doesn't, he stays chatting and laughing with fans and well-wishers the same as all of them do, it's just part of the business (and, yeah, fun, if you're in the mood for it) but Chris has seen him slide through a crowd at conventions like a waiter in a busy restaurant. He typically comes back minutes later anyway to sign something or give someone a hug, like he can't resist. But Chris had been lost enough in his own head _(like always)_ that when Seb had said "Hey" and touched his arm, again, he'd flinched back.

"Hey! No, hey," he said, "I was just surprised, that's all, Jesus, _say_ something next time, we gotta put a bell on ya. So, you done? I mean, obviously, we're done." Oh God, that sounded like a breakup line, right there in a fluorescent-lit hallway that looked like the jetway at an airport of all places. But Seb had only smiled at him, surprisingly calm.

"Yeah -- yeah, guess we are. I could....walk you out to your car?"

(Chris likes driving, even in L.A -- like everyone always teases him, he likes being in control, although sometimes the endless highways and the hours of sitting in your car with all the other thousands of suckers stuck sitting in _their_ cars stresses him out. He doesn't know if Seb likes to drive -- one of the times Seb had offered him a ride, and he'd actually taken it, they'd wound up in an Uber and Seb had apologized to Chris and the driver, then rolled down all the windows in back and asked the driver to hook his fucking iPhone up to the speakers so he could blast some early eighties stuff Chris doesn't think his _sisters_ ever played. The driver seemed to love it, though, and he and Seb had had an enthusiastic conversation -- or maybe it sounded that way because they had to shout -- about the Go-Go's and Blondie. "Thank you, man! Five stars!" Seb had yelled before they got out, and they'd all slapped hands, the driver blasting "I Will Survive" as he took off.)

Chris came out of the memory, had to smile at Sebastian, only two or three feet away and so far out of reach. "Yeah! Yes, let's, uh -- yeah, yeah, sure." _Dammit._ "I had to park way the hellandgone, though -- out by -- " He'd started to point, but Seb had shaken his head, still smiling.

"No, that's fine -- in fact, I think I know a shortcut that way." He licked at his bottom lip, so Chris stared him resolutely in the eye, but couldn't keep it up. He looked down, shuffled his feet, rubbed the back of his neck and then snatched his hand away like his hair was on fire.

"A shortcut, hunh? Well, okay." Seb licked his lip again, then caught it in his teeth _(that's a tell, he's nervous. Or stalling)_ Chris arched his eyebrows and tilted his head at the same time. "Lead on, Macduff." They took off, Seb leading the way but not by much, not saying anything, but Chris felt something was off -- he wasn't saying something. "Wait, did I get it wrong? Does Macduff say it?"

Sebastian looked back, stumbling slightly over his own feet but recovering in the same moment, twisting around, almost like a spin juke. "No! No. Well, it's....lay _on,_ Macduff. It got famous as 'Lead on,' though. Like 'Play it again, Sam,' it's just how people got used to saying it."

"Careful, _care --_ Hey, just watch it, will you? Don't trip." Now Seb's nervousness was making Chris nervous, and that meant the anxiety was likely to kick in, any second now. Especially if he was going to get ditched in a _parking lot._ That had happened once to a friend of his in high school, in the rain, no less, and Chris had gotten the impression it was the kind of thing that scarred you for life. He didn't think Sebastian would actually do that, but he seemed keyed up about _something._

After maybe five minutes dragged by, he said something to try to keep the movie trivia contest going, because he couldn't think of anything else to talk about and was terrified of what Seb might say given a too-long silence. "There's one of those in _Snow White,_ you know that?"

"No, really? _Snow White?"_   Seb slowed down, then stopped, although Chris couldn't see a shortcut, or a covered pedestrian walkway, or much of anything, anywhere. They were on the far side of one of the big lots, where it was still hot but shaded by a stand of trees behind the chain-link fence, a short line of vans and utility vehicles parked alongside it in the cool. A couple of studios were visible in the middle distance, not too close, definitely farther than you'd want to walk on such a sunny afternoon with no cover. Their shadows stretched out long and dark, there was almost no wind, and Chris couldn't hear anything, not even any birds in the trees. No traffic, no chattering passers-by. It wasn't isolated or that far from where they'd started, but definitely out of sight.

There's always the chance of some asshole with an iPhone or a pap stretched out along a tree branch with one of those long-range lenses that remind Chris of sniper rifles, but that was hard to think about, in the peace and quiet. Chris never sees much of Georgia, or even Atlanta; it's long days on the set, starting with makeup when most of the rest of the city is asleep, and sometimes on days off he'll go to a restaurant with friends, but usually it's the trailer, the hotel room, the set, another set, outside shooting, makeup, wardrobe, more sets. But right then, with Seb, it was like a glimpse of the real place, underneath all the big studios and bigger hotels and the other machinery of the almost palpable economic boom. Something that existed only for itself, in the curve of a tree trunk or the line of a mountain ridge, the silent bright blue sky.

"Yeah, in, uh...." Chris started, not really knowing what he was talking about. Seb had backed up until he was next to one nondescript off-white windowless van -- it had a regular cab, back doors like an ambulance and big sliding side doors, too, and a yellow heavy-looking ladder and a clutch of poles strapped to a rack on top. "What -- are you? -- "

"I....can you, uh, come here? I wanna, would you come here to see something?" While he was talking, Seb had drawn one sliding door open -- it looked heavy as fuck, and his biceps showed the strain -- and the day was so bright Chris couldn't make out anything inside, just soft darkness. He squinted a little, trying to see what Seb wanted to show him. Then Seb had hopped up _into_ the van, not quite disappearing from sight: Chris could see the pale oval of his face, the light on his exposed forearms.

Chris stood there with his mouth open, realizing what Sebastian probably wanted to show him, and at the same time totally disbelieving it. Making out in a trailer was one thing, there's an expectation of privacy plus friends do visit back and forth all the time, but if anyone saw him _and_ Seb both getting in a _van_ for no reason in the middle of the afternoon....


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seb's head fell forward and he started sucking hard again at the same spot on Chris's neck, showing nothing of his earlier finesse in the showers when he'd marked Chris before, and not easing up on Chris's cock either. It felt like he wanted to break the skin and bring up blood. Chris spread his hand across the back of Seb's head, fingers caught in his hair, the air warm and damp around them like still water, hissing _fuck_ and _God_ and _oh, God, ohhh fuck, fuck._ Seb bore down as if they didn't have fans or studio PR flacks or TMZ or anything else to worry about, as if he really could mark up Chris as much as he wanted, needed, printing _mine mine mine_ across Chris's skin as surely as if he was writing it with marker. Chris tried not to put all his weight on Seb but couldn't help rocking up into his touch, matching Seb's movement and flat-out babbling _God, yes, yes do it, suck me, touch me, whatever you want, anything you want, just fucking do it --_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the lovely comments -- jeez, you guys are going to make me bawl. I tried responding to some but actually got sort of choked up and wasn't able to be very coherent, but they all mean a lot. I'm really humbled and moved people connected so much with the story, and are happy to see it continue. _Thank you,_ so much.
> 
> (This is the second half of what was originally chapter 1, before I split it, and chapter 2 should go up next Friday.)

It had felt like minutes that he'd been caught flat-footed standing there, but Chris followed Sebastian fast and close, once he figured out what was going on. The interior of the van was dim and very warm, crowded, full of metal drawers and plastic boxes with sharp edges and hard corners. Seb reached past Chris and slammed the side door shut but it didn't catch, let alone lock. Chris didn't care, couldn't care. He and Sebastian had been facing each other, not even side-by-side, all goddamn morning, not touching, not smiling, rehearsing the gestures of goodbye over and over, and it felt like a big goddamn message, not from Seb but from the universe: _you can't have this. It's over. Be glad you had what you did._ Chris heard Sebastian push something that sounded like hard plastic moving in plastic and a dome light came on -- it was one of those battery-powered indoor/outdoor portable lights that could be stuck on or screwed in, probably so the electrician could see what was in the van with the engine off without having to carry a flashlight. The light was surprisingly bright, the blue-white glare of LEDs rather than the soft yellow of a bulb, and Chris squinted again, finding Sebastian's face -- his dark hair was part of the darkness around them, and the shadows made his cheekbones look high and stark. And all Chris could really see wasn't the surprise and then deeper lines of concern on Sebastian's face, not the boxes and chests and various piles of shadowy stuff all around them, not Sebastian's navy T-shirt tight around his biceps and chest but still loose at the waist, but how Seb was maybe four feet away, up against the other metal wall of the van or some other goddamn metal boxes or shelving, and he was out of reach, not up against Chris, skin to skin, was _too far away._

Seb opened his mouth to say something, but what it was Chris never knew and never asked about later, because he came in close and pushed him hard, too hard, into the metal behind him but Seb didn't protest or complain. Chris cradled Seb's head in his hands, thumbs on his cheeks and his fingers spread out along both sides of Seb's neck, and kissed him as hard as he could, a lot harder than he meant to but he couldn't dial it back and he wasn't sorry. Sebastian kissed him right back just as hard, harder even, with tender violence, his hands going up under Chris's untucked shirt on either side of his spine. Chris let go and yanked Sebastian's shirt off, surprised the fabric didn't actually tear, and tossed it back behind him. Sebastian's eyebrows went up a moment, but he pulled off Chris's shirt too, a lot more slowly and deliberately, then let it drop as Chris ran his hands up and down Seb's sides, then his back again, trying to calm down, ground himself, banish the feeling that sooner rather than later they'd really say good-bye, that this was it. Sebastian let Chris catch his fingers in Seb's long hair, pull his head to the side and kiss under his jaw, run his tongue along and up Sebastian's throat til he could bite at his ear. But then he pulled away, his hands going around to the front of Chris's jeans, and worked them and his briefs open and down while Chris found his mouth again, neither of them stopping, the rubber soles of their shoes squeaking faintly on the black ribbed flooring of the van, the only sound other than their fast harsh breathing.

Seb pushed him down onto a kind of (surprisingly chilly) metal chest of drawers against the front of the cab, and looked like he was about to lower himself onto his knees in front of it, holding Chris's thighs for support. Chris grabbed Seb's wrists, kept him from moving, and then went for _his_ jeans, and Seb just let him, and it was enough, that Chris grabbing and Seb and needing to touch him, needing him naked too, was okay, that Seb wanted him to, maybe needed him to. That Seb wanting him -- pulling his hands free so he could stroke Chris's shoulders, his neck, trail his fingers down Chris's chest and grip his arms, touch any part of Chris he could reach, anywhere, everywhere -- was real, that they could come back to each other, this fast and sure. Chris got one hand on Seb's dick, digging the fingers of his other hand into Seb's hip, feeling his ass, trying to get him closer, and bent his head to lick Seb's nipple, then flattened his tongue against it, feeling the skin rise and stiffen under his mouth. Chris had figured out, mostly by trial and error and pretty late in the day, that Sebastian's nipples were smaller but a _lot_ more sensitive than his -- they got hard almost every time Sebastian took his shirt off, and were usually visible through thin fabrics. Sebastian had never asked Chris to give his chest any special attention, so Chris had figured it was one of those body-wiring quirks where the nerves were easily stimulated _right there_ and sometimes it was uncomfortable, or just too much, more often than not. And then he'd used that knowledge to his advantage more than a couple of times. Like now, sucking hard and then letting his lips go soft against Seb's nipple, mouthing it while he stroked Seb in the same rhythm, feeling the silky skin on his cock over hardness and heat, against his fingers and palm. It felt more than _good,_ it felt right, felt like he was finally OK, like all the earlier unease and frustration and difficulty that had built up all fucking day on the fucking set like a storm was finally melting away, disappearing -- or, if it stayed at all, changing into something else, the heat between them burning it away.

Seb's hands clamped down on Chris's shoulders, his moans loud in the cramped dim space around them, ringing off the metal. He tried bending down for a kiss, wordlessly urging Chris to raise his face up level with his own, but as he shifted his weight Chris got off-balance and fell into him and they didn't hit the floor, but it was close. Seb hit a huge heavy-looking sliding drawer unit on the side of the van which had to hurt, but he grabbed the back of Chris's neck with one hand and kissed him even harder than Chris had to start with, so Chris felt dizzy. His jeans were caught on a metal edge, or a corner, _something,_ because they were cutting into the front of his thighs, but he didn't care. He reached down for his own cock, then pushed up against Seb, getting his hand around Seb again, and started rubbing them together, clumsily, not with Seb's easy grace born of experience, purely desperate. Seb braced himself against the metal shelving with one hand, his other gripping Chris even harder. Chris closed his eyes, focusing on his cock sliding against Seb's, one hand on Seb's shoulder, feeling the bone and muscle shift as Seb tried to keep his balance, adjusting with tiny movements. He buried his face in Seb's neck, not wanting to see anything else, knowing everything he needed was here, everything he felt and heard, was all there was. Was enough. He'd spent his life chasing the moment when what you need and what you have are perfectly aligned, are the same, and here it was with this other guy in a goddamn _unlocked van,_ their bodies fitted into each others' like puzzle pieces, the right shapes finally there, no more confusion. It was like that weird sutra he'd never understood, _no eyes, no ears, no nose, no tongue, no body, no mind,_ no fear no hate no pain, everything else wiped away.

Chris staggered, pulled off-balance by pleasure, and Seb flinched involuntarily -- Chris whispered _Oh shit sorry_ \-- but Seb shook his head and whispered _No, no, Chris_ firmly, voice resonating right in his ear, then leaned to the side and started pulling Chris down with him, so his mouth and cock and hands were out of reach. Chris said "Wait, _dammit,"_ frustration overpowering the fear of the unlocked door, but Seb shook his head again and said quietly, "Come on -- just come here -- " He wrapped one arm around Chris's waist, holding him firmly while guiding him down, still supporting himself with his other arm, so Chris wound up half-kneeling on the floor while Seb balanced on the edge of a giant spool of bright green wire. Chris ran his hands through Seb's hair again, clenching it hard in his fists, needing to hold on, while Seb pushed his jeans and underwear the rest of the way down and then somehow raised him up, grabbed Chris's hips and drew him in so Chris was on his damn lap. His thighs were spread but the goddamn jeans were binding his ankles, his knees were on either side of Seb's waist, and most of his weight was supported on Seb's thighs which felt amazingly hard, the muscles straining. Chris moved his weight up and Seb gasped as their cocks brushed, touching again, and started to slide against each other again, slicking up with precome and sweat. "There," Seb breathed, "there, yeah, _there,"_ and started to work them both together in his palm, gripping the edge of the spool with his other hand. Chris wrapped one hand around Seb's, feeling Seb's fingers on their cocks and how they were moving together, and got the fingers of his other hand in Seb's hair again.

But this time Sebastian didn't let Chris pull his head back and pushed forward instead, so Chris felt the wet heat of Seb's mouth under the point of his jaw, on the side of his throat, and then Seb sucked hard on his neck and Chris felt his teeth biting down, the pressure becoming a burning ache. He pressed Seb's head against him hard, holding him there, while Seb stroked them both off in the same rhythm of his sucking on Chris's neck. Now Chris was the one starting to groan, loud, unable to help it, in time, _oh -- oh -- oh --_ He closed his eyes, feeling the hot sharp sucking of Seb's mouth, Seb's skin warm and beading with sweat, Seb's hand moving on them both. When Seb finally let go of Chris's neck, he was gasping, and Chris pulled away, watching Seb's eyes start to slip shut the way they always did when he was close, almost trying to memorize that expression in spite of his brain shorting out with pleasure. If Seb wanted this it was enough, it _had_ to be enough, enough for both of them; what mattered was this, not worrying about anything else -- this was everything, right now, it was okay to feel this and nothing else, to be so totally in the moment he could barely think, reduced to animal sensation and pure need.

Seb looked up at Chris, his gaze so intent and clear even in the hazy light Chris couldn't stand it, so he moved his hand and felt Seb's cock wet and hot against his palm. Seb's head fell forward and he started sucking hard again at the same spot on Chris's neck, showing nothing of his earlier finesse in the showers when he'd marked Chris before, and not easing up on Chris's cock either. It felt like he wanted to break the skin and bring up blood. Chris spread his hand across the back of Seb's head, fingers caught in his hair, the air warm and damp around them like still water, hissing _fuck_ and _God_ and _oh, God, ohhh fuck, fuck._ Seb bore down as if they didn't have fans or studio PR flacks or TMZ or anything else to worry about, as if he really could mark up Chris as much as he wanted, needed, printing _mine mine mine_ across Chris's skin as surely as if he was writing it with marker. Chris tried not to put all his weight on Seb but couldn't help rocking up into his touch, matching Seb's movement and flat-out babbling _God, yes, yes do it, suck me, touch me, whatever you want, anything you want, just fucking do it --_

He was pressed up so close against Seb he felt the shuddering start through Seb's body first, his thighs quivering, felt Seb's dick twitch and pulse in his hand and then liquid heat all around his own cock, covering Seb's hand too. Seb groaned against Chris's neck, and Chris felt the warm air on his skin -- so much cooler than Seb's mouth, in contrast -- then felt his back arch up as he came too, Seb's breath coming fast against his chest. Chris wrapped one arm tight around the back of Seb's shoulders, trying not to rest his whole weight on Seb's legs. Sebastian lifted his face up and Chris kissed him urgently, having to stop to gasp for breath too much but going right back again, both of them panting into each others' mouths more than anything else. His neck burned, on the edge of really hurting, and he didn't care. They'd come all over each other and their jeans were filthy, and he still didn't care. If someone yanked open the sliding side door right now, he'd probably care, but he couldn't imagine it would be much.

Sebastian tried getting off the edge of the spool -- it must have been digging into the backs of his thighs the entire time -- but almost lost his balance. Chris held onto him tighter and said, slightly panicked, "No, no, I got you, I got you, right here -- " They managed a barely controlled fall and Seb wound up landing on his back, thudding onto the floor so hard Chris was surprised the door didn't fly open, but it looked weighted down with the same heavy pull-out drawers as on the other side, thank God.

"You all right, you okay -- Jesus -- " Chris tried rolling over to the side, off Seb, but Seb wouldn't let him, spread his legs and caught Chris's hips between his thighs, their jeans now snarled around their feet, stuck at their shoes. He wrapped his arms around Chris's waist, their cocks still pressed together against Seb's hard stomach. Chris flinched, oversensitive afterwards as usual, but not wanting to move away. He propped himself up on one elbow, reached down and tucked strands of Seb's thick wet hair away from his face behind his ear, kissed him lightly and then tried to move off again, but Seb tightened his hold. Chris grinned, feeling how Seb was pinning him in place -- he couldn't really break away.

"Jesus, you got big," he murmured, then stopped, remembering how he hated people saying the same thing to him _(I thought you were_ bigger....). "I mean...." But Sebastian laughed.

"I know. I think I....overdid it? I just felt like -- such a machine. It was eating and eating and waking up in the middle of the night to go pee and eat some more and then waking up in the morning and eating and eating again. You know how it goes. I think I got up over two hundred, that's insane, I never weighed that much in my life."

"It goes away fast," Chris said ruefully. "Kind of just melts off, when you're not eating protein every four hours."

"Yeah, that's what they told me. So enjoy it" -- Seb gripped Chris tighter, Jesus, his thighs felt like fucking tree trunks -- "while it lasts."

"I intend to," Chris said in an over-the-top growl, and Sebastian laughed again. They were both breathless -- Chris was sure Seb had had some of his wind knocked out by landing on the floor. Chris himself was coming down enough from the high of both the sex and Sebastian still _wanting_ him, not ditching him in the parking lot, that he felt the edge of anxiety pressing through the afterglow enough to ask, "You know you didn't lock the goddamn door?"

Seb looked honestly shocked. _"No,"_ he breathed.

"Yes! I mean no, no you didn't. In fact, it didn't even close, really. Didn't latch."

"Oh Jesus Christ." Sebastian banged his head lightly against the floor of the van, then winced. "I thought it locked, when -- when someone closes it?"

"Yeah, no. Plus, you didn't close it all the way. You flip this switch right here, to lock it, see?" Chris reached out and flipped it, then unlocked it, flipped it to the locked position again. Sebastian reached out tentatively and tried. Chris shook his head. "Nope, you just unlocked it."

Seb had actual tears in his eyes, starting to trail down the side of his face, he was laughing so hard. He was holding Chris very close, so Chris felt his laughter as well as heard it, deep in his chest and stomach. "Oh, Jesus, fuck you."

"Well, actually -- "

"No, Evans, NO, _fuck -- you._ Oh, God."

"How'd you know where the hell this was, anyway? That nobody would come along?"

Seb sniffed, let go of Chris to wipe at his eyes, then put one arm behind his head, trailing the other up and down Chris's back. Chris knew he must have been heavy as hell, but he stayed put. "It's a spare van -- it's got spare parts and stuff -- they park it here, and just leave it most of the day, it's faster than having to go down to one of the workshops if they just need a couple small things. _Sometimes,_ they don't even lock it. This extra told me about it, he thought he was gonna use it to vape" -- Chris started laughing -- "he invited me, but I convinced him it was too risky, because I thought it could work out okay for, well, us."

"God, you're like an evil plotting genius."

"When it comes to you, yeah, maybe."

Chris put his index finger on the cleft in Seb's chin, barely visible in the low light under the stubble; Seb dipped his head and sucked Chris's finger into his mouth. Chris wanted to watch his lips, the little movements in his cheek muscles, but felt Seb's tongue swirl around and around the tip of his finger and shut his eyes. After a moment, Seb let his finger slip out, and Chris cupped his hand tentatively around Seb's jaw. He felt Seb turn his head and kiss Chris's palm, barely, and then trace a line -- love, life, work? he didn't know -- with his tongue. He didn't feel sleepy, exactly, but powerfully relaxed, the same absolute absence of anxiety and tightness in his chest and worry over loss that he'd felt way back when this had first all started. If drugs were half as good as this, no wonder people got hooked.

"What's the thing with _Snow White?"_ Seb's question surprised him so much his eyes flew open.

_"What?"_

"What's the _Snow White_ line? That people get wrong?"

"Oh, my _fuckin' God,_ how can you remem -- never mind." He thought a moment. "Uh, people say 'Mirror mirror,' right? 'Mirror mirror on the wall.'"

"It's not that?" Seb was looking up at him, into his eyes, smiling, worrying his lower lip with his teeth.

"No, it's _magic_ mirror on the wall, who is the fairest. One of all. You know."

"Got it," Seb said solemnly. His eyes dropped to the side of Chris's neck, and he sucked air through his teeth. "Oooh, Jesus, got a little carried away there....but, you're done, right?" he asked hopefully.

"No, asshole, I have one more day." Chris laughed, but Sebastian looked guilt-stricken.

"Oh _shit_ I'm so sorry -- "

"No, no, it's fine. It's okay. It's not that bad...." Seb kissed him, remorseful, then kissed the spot he'd marked and licked it in apology, making Chris's breath come sharp. His neck throbbed from that one soft touch. "It's the end of the shoot, you know, nobody's working out anymore, we're all sloppy. They gotta put a bruise on my face, they can take one off my neck, no sweat."

Chris can still feel the mark throb now and then, mostly when he presses on it -- and he does. Everything about this.... _thing_ has been so fucking transitory: cars, rented rooms, temporary beds, a couple of meals together, days on the set surrounded by other people. Except for a few innocuous text messages and handwritten notes Chris has saved like a seventh-grader, there's nothing really to show they had anything at all. Here, now, in his hotel room, he presses down onto the mark again, hard then harder, welcoming the small jab of pain. But even that's going to fade, without a scar.

Thank God, after all that, neither of them had had anything scheduled the rest of the day; the bruise on Chris's neck had come up deep purple almost immediately, and his jeans were not only filthy inside _and_ out (the floors of electricians' vans were dirty, who knew) but ripped. Sebastian's navy shirt had looked OK, mostly because it was dark, but Chris's shirt had had a nice clear sneaker print on the front that looked like something out of _CSI._ Both of them had bruises and bumps that almost felt like the aftermath of a fight scene, but thank God, there hadn't been any blood -- "al _though,"_ Sebastian had said thoughtfully, in that dry-as-a-bone voice, "we probably _did_ leave DNA in there." Chris had cursed him out for that with the worst Boston phrasing he knew as they strolled back through the parking lot ("Don't run. Never run. Just walk. -- The _Black Widow_ told you this, remember, come on!") and they'd parted laughing, Chris going back alone to his trailer so he could change and wash up as soon as possible.

Today, the makeup girl had raised her eyebrows as high as they would go and then called over the head of the department, who scolded him and then made the mark disappear in five minutes, but had him pull his collar up anyway. He'd been wearing the same dark blue "civilian Cap" outfit as in the scene with Seb, so casual looked fine. (Mackie had teased him about "that Nomad outfit," and Chris had missed the reference but laughed anyway.) He'd had his last scene with Mackie, which was mainly both of them exchanging small quiet smiles and the director figuring out the best speed for Chris to move at so it looked like Steve was coming back slowly out of the shadows: very dramatic. He'd done several different versions of his last v.o. so Downey could choose which one to react to -- Chris wonders whether or not he'll come back just for a couple of days, but probably not. Downey's shipped most of the furniture in his rental house back to California, and he and his wife and eldest kid rode back specially on a private jet with their cats, two rescued strays Robert treats like reincarnated Egyptian pharaohs. ("My boys can't spend too long on a plane, it stresses them out, they start _crying."_ "Jesus, can _I_ ride back in your private jet if I start to cry?" Robert had batted his eyelashes at him like a silver-screen siren. "Oh, you can talk, Evans, with your goddamn _lap_ dog.")

His co-stars, his superhero crew, had dropped away individually, first Robert and Scarlett, then Mackie, and finally Hayley, hanging on "to buck you up" as long as she could: she'd texted him all the way to the airport from her Uber ride, and before her plane had taken off and after it was in the air, a steady reassuring stream of bright babble that felt more precious the further away she travelled.

The last thing she'd sent him was a scan of [an ancient comic in which Peggy and Sharon were sisters,](https://web.archive.org/web/20121231004829/http://goodcomics.comicbookresources.com/2012/12/22/the-abandoned-an-forsaked-so-how-old-is-captain-americas-girlfriend) with the message: _Did you know that Earth has now developed a very slight eccentricity in its orbit?_

_uh no?_

_ME SPINNING IN MY BLOODY GRAVE!_

Chris had had to laugh, as she'd intended, and replied primly: _a lo_ _ng time ago in a comic book far, far away...._

_I'd break out of my coffin and ground Sharon. Just ground her. And you too! Steve's younger than Peggy is now. She'd kick his ass. Can't touch this. Don't tap that Carter! Leave my family alone! And stop mixing up franchises. Don't cross the streams!_

_u sure peggy cd kick cap's ass right out of her coffin?_

_She'd inject herself with the blue serum and become a supervillain. Teach him a lesson. Deceive and leave some other poor young maidens. UNRELATED ones!_

Chris had given his phone's camera lens his best Sad, Sad Dog look and typed:  _what if steve's lonely?_

_He can visit Mrs Rosemary Palm, or other Ladies of Negotiable Affection. Probably several._

Then she'd had to explain Discworld to him, which had burned through more of his aimless time, but eventually even she'd had to go, promising to call him early in the morning, his time, so he wouldn't wake up "alone and forsaken." And now, hours later, he's sitting here with essentially nothing to do, except wonder what the hell is going on with his life.

Chris haphazardly cleaned out his trailer earlier, which meant stuffing dirty clothes and old paperbacks and Skittles wrappers into a gym bag, but it's Friday and he's not leaving until the weekend's over, so he hasn't started packing yet (which will probably mean stuffing dirty clothes and a couple of souvenirs into a suitcase). Originally he just wanted a little bubble of space to himself, in between wrapping up the reshoots and going home, telling himself he'd meditate or even start doing yoga, for the sixth or seventh time. He'd thought about going out, but he can't handle clubbing and hangovers as well as he did when he first started playing Cap and it was a way to blow off stress, and yeah, he wants to be available if Sebastian calls. Which is stupid. He's not sure if Sebastian's still in the hotel anymore, but he doesn't want to check and find out. Which is _weapons-grade_ stupid; he could go down the hall and _knock on the door._ But it feels like he can't. He's not panicking, not all that anxious, but he knows he's stuck in his own head right now. He's also not that inclined to try to climb out, except it means he probably won't be able to get to sleep. He can't really focus, either; he tried rereading _Siddhartha,_ which almost always makes him feel better, or thinking about other projects he's already trying to line up: scripts to read, directing projects he wants to think about (he'd thought about directing something Seb had written, not now, further down the line....). Then he tried watching videos of families at Disneyland on his phone, trying one of his favourite insomniac fantasies, imagining himself there as a dad with his own kids, a beautiful laughing wife, his sisters and brother, nephews and nieces....But all that does at this moment is remind him of what he doesn't have.

He remembers the story Robert told them way back when, about the stone in the river, and how it had jived in his mind with something he'd remembered reading in a science fiction anthology, of all places, a long time ago -- a battered paperback from the library, with an unironic retro cover. One character had asked another how he stood it, being alive and suffering grief and loss and everything else that seemed inevitable but unpredictable too, and the other character, who was a Buddhist, had said being alive was like living on quicksand, or the slopes of a volcano (or the San Andreas fault, Chris thought). Any minute, any day or any night, the roof could come down on your head, the ground open up beneath your feet, everything gone. But if you knew it, really tried to _know_ this, and not let the knowledge slip away -- really accept it -- if you knew you had no control over that, no knowledge of where or when it might happen, it almost didn't matter that it would happen. The fear of it happening would be gone. But the author had gone further, and had the character say that for a Buddhist, even your self was quicksand, the stability of it was as much an illusion as a stable floor, solid ground. There was no security, not even in yourself, in your own self existing, for however long it might seem to. But for now, until everything fell apart, it was all you had. Most people would see the self as the stone, unchanging, immovable, safe. But if even the stone could be pushed aside by the current, dislodged by a hand or foot or wrenched up by an earthquake, then -- what would you have then? Maybe nobody really has anything. Maybe thinking of everything in terms of having or not-having is what's wrong.

....When he gets like this, he knows he the frown line between his eyebrows goes deep and it was always a signal for his family to start razzing him -- friends, too. One guy in high school used to earnestly go "Chris, come baaack," waving his arms, like Chris was far out at sea. He supposes he is, when that happens, just inside. "Get out of there, honey, get out of your head, come back out here with the rest of us," his mom would say. Scott, the little shit, actually called him The Thinker for a while, until he realized Chris really got upset over it, inside. Where every fucking thing in his life really happens, it feels like, inside his self, inside his skull. He gets up off the bed, stretches out his back, groans loudly to try to relieve tension. He should relax, go to sleep. Protein, water, bed, right.

He chews automatically through half a can of tuna before he realizes he doesn't have to stick to the meal plan so rigorously anymore, bags the rest of it in the mini-fridge, gulps down some bottled water and turns off the light. He doesn't turn off his phone, because Hayley said she'd call him, and he wants to wake up to her voice. He pushes it under the other pillow on his bed for safekeeping, pulls the blanket up over his head to block out the glow and stares at the backs of his eyelids, willing himself to go to sleep, thinking of various mantras and bedtime mental and breathing exercises.

He knows if he has trouble getting to sleep, he'll wake up late, so when the phone rings about fifteen minutes after he's shut his eyes and is barely drifting off, it's set on _fuckin' loud_ because he really doesn't want to miss Hayley. The goddamn opening of the _goddamn_ ["The Star-Spangled Man With A Plan"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7i574Em3IrI) song, with his own stupid voice repeating "each one you buy is a bullet in the barrel of your best guy's gun" for maximum embarrassment potential, nearly gives him a heart attack. Because of course he hasn't managed to fix Hayley's and Mackie's hack, he was hoping Scott could help him out when he got home. He bolts upright gasping like a fish, feels around frantically under the pilow which results in him knocking the phone under the blankets, finally grabs it and manages, "Yeah -- yeah? Shit, did I hang up? I'm here...."

He's not really awake, so he doesn't realize it isn't Hayley for a few moments. He hears someone breathing on the line, but something's weird about it -- the noise is constricted, like whoever's calling is trying to keep their voice from wavering before speaking up. He pulls the phone away from his ear and squints at the caller ID in the darkness, his night vision shot.

It's Sebastian; he's shocked. He really thought they might not talk for a while; he was trying not to expect anything. "Seb? You there?"

Sebastian breathes out sharply.

"Hey, you sou -- are you okay?" Chris asks sharply, anxiety shooting up.

Sebastian manages "Uhhhmmmm...." in what's definitely his stalling tone, but it sounds ragged. "Uh -- Chris?" he asks, like he's not really sure they're talking either.

"Yeah, it's me. I'm....here, I'm right here." He waits, but Sebastian doesn't seem willing, or able, to say anything else. "Are you all _right,"_ he asks again, more softly.

"Uh. Not really?" Sebastian says, like he's trying to make a joke out of it. "I, I thought....I just wanted....I wanted to call." His voice goes creaky and he shuts up again. Chris knows that sound too well: it's someone trying not to cry. It's pointless to try to figure out what the fuck is happening on the phone, and he needs to _do_ something now, too, if Sebastian's having a bad night.

"Okay. You in your room?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah," Sebastian says, and sniffles a little, sounding relieved, in the loss of control that happens when you reach out in the middle of the night to someone and they don't turn you away. Chris is all too familiar with that, as well. Seb takes in a deep breath, but it hitches in the middle and he's quiet again.

"Okay," Chris says again, still not that awake. "Okay. Stay there, all right? I'll be right there. Don't go anywhere." He hangs up, tosses the phone on the bed and starts going through the dresser. He stripped down to his boxer briefs to sleep, so he pulls on sweats and a T-shirt, then a hoodie over that, but doesn't bother with shoes and socks. He grabs his phone again, nabs his keycard from the dresser by his wallet and loose change, and lets the door close-lock behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no, this is sort of a cliffhanger too! I'm sorry, I didn't really mean it to come out that way. 
> 
> Hayley joking with Chris about Peggy and Sharon: I just wanted to make it clear, because there was a lot of online controversy when _Civil War_ came out, that this _absolutely_ isn't meant as Sharon-bashing (or Peggy-bashing either). I think the extended cast of the movies really love giving each other great trainloads of shit, and it's part of how they express friendship (and sometimes, this doesn't come across well to reporters or on social media). I really like Sharon in the comics and loved Emily VanCamp's portrayal of her in TWS and CW. Of course, if the joking isn't obvious to the reader, I've failed as a writer, but given that the topic has been so fraught, I wanted to make it clear that the exchange is mostly my Hayley hassling her friend Chris to get him out of his depression and loneliness. 
> 
> (I have to admit, I've been wanting to include that comic in a story for a while because it's so wonderfully goofy. Oh, Marvel.)
> 
> "No Fear, No Hate, No Pain (No Broken Hearts)" is [a Eurythmics song.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gYtL8-EGzNk)
> 
> I listened a lot to [Sade's "Soldier of Love"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IR5_rTCi-Bo) while writing this, even though for me it's more of a Steve/Bucky than a Chris/Seb song. (It's pretty hot no matter who you associate it with.)
> 
> The story Chris remembers is adapted from "The Oracle," by M.J. Engh, in _Edges,_ an anthology edited by Ursula K. Le Guin and Virginia Kidd, published in 1980:
> 
> _"I've always known," he said, " -- no, not always, but since I was a child -- I've known that we live on quicksand....on the side of a volcano....on an earthquake fault. You know that any minute of any day or night the roof can fall on your head, the floor can open below your feet, the earth itself can suck you down. And somehow when you know this -- when you know you always live surrounded by unappealable forces so much stronger than you -- then you are not the slave of those forces. When you must build your house on quicksand, you don't count on its standing. You find your security in yourself; because your self is all you have. And if you're a Buddhist you know that even your self is quicksand. In a way I don't exist, I'm an illusion. This self is only an accumulation of particles and forces interacting, clinging together for a second or a century. But this accumulation, this tension, this equilibrium that I call Philippe Montoya -- this is all I have. When it falls apart, then Philippe Montoya has no more problems. But until then, Philippe Montoya exists -- and what difference does it make what happens outside? Philippe Montoya exists."_


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I missed you," he says to Seb, under cover of the dim light and the afterglow and the current of power that flows back and forth between them like something visible. _Missed_ instead of _want_ or _need_ or even _love._ He stretches over to kiss Seb's mouth once, briefly; it might feel chaste except it's the opposite, there's so much held back. He catches a glimpse of the mark he just made and winces; it's lurid, even in the low light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ARGH, so I'm posting this on Saturday not Friday, I'm sorry for being a day late. But I'm typically so behind this is like being a couple of weeks ahead! ....sort of?

Chris doesn't run down the hallway, _don't attract attention,_ but it's maybe the fastest he's ever walked in his life. He knocks gently on the door, but nothing happens. He steps back so Seb can see it's him through the spyhole, nervously runs one hand through his hair when he realizes it's a wreck from having been slept (okay, dozed) on, tries knocking again even more softly. He's trying not to get too spun up, but he doesn't think he's ever heard Sebastian as upset as he was just now on the phone. 

He doesn't want to knock again, in case the noise alerts any hotel employees or other guests who might run to online gossip sites, so he slips out his phone and thumbs the Call Last Incoming Number icon. A second later, he hears.... _piano music,_ loud, coming from the other side of the door, and it sounds like Sebastian yells "Aw shit!" He yanks open the door, and [the music blasts out](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j3i1mVkqI34). Chris gets inside fast, shutting the door behind him, while Seb tries finding his phone on the nightstand, which is again piled with stuff -- water bottles, Starbucks cups, vitamin pills and Advil, energy bar wrappers, a teetering stack of old paperbacks. He hears a familiar melody, _be kind to your web-footed friends_ , and laughs. "What the hell is that? You got a ringtone for me?"

"Fuck, well, maybe," Sebastian mutters, finally getting his phone to shut up. Chris looks around, taken aback: the bedside lamp is on the floor, a towel or maybe a pillowcase wrapped around the shade so the light's muted, and the bathroom light's on, but all the other lights are off. The bathroom door's mostly closed, too. There's not enough to read a book by, but it would be too bright for him to be able to get to sleep, at least. "What the hell, you going goth on me or something?"

"Already went -- Goth," Seb replies, trying to catch a water bottle he knocked off the nightstand. He succeeds, but the pile of paperbacks hit the floor instead. "A little, sort of. After college. In my Chelsea days." Chris bends and picks up one of the books, wanting to help -- it's a battered copy of _Cosmos_. 

"Oh man, this is great," he says, noticing the wide white wrinkles on the spine, the corners of the cover and page edges worn soft and grey. "I love this too. Is this your read-me-to-sleep book or something?"

Seb is fussing around some with this and that, like he can't stand still for some reason, but when Chris says _sleep_ he stops. "Yeah," he says finally. He's wearing very thin sweatpants and an old sweatshirt with RUTGERS printed across the front, the neck and sleeves cut out so long ago the fabric's rolled up around the edges. He's barefoot and his hair's messed up, he certainly looks like he was sleeping, or trying to, so Chris isn't sure why that question seemed to get to him. He's missing something. 

"I couldn't sleep, it....got bad," Seb says, more awkward than Chris has ever seen him, when it's only the two of them. "You remember, I told you...." 

"Yeah," Chris says softly. He remembers. He'd told Seb the worst part of waking up without him was in the morning, facing that hollow emptiness, but for Seb, it was trying to get to sleep by himself, without Chris. He's confused and reaches out to Seb, wanting to squeeze his shoulder in reassurance, but the temptation of touching him is too much and his hand slides down Seb's arm to just above his elbow, and he holds on. "You all right?" he asks. "What's wrong?"

Seb just stands there like Chris is pinning him to the mat during a fight rehearsal and stares at him, his pupils huge and the grey irises opaque in the dim light, like Chris has seen sometimes before. Even with the cupid's bow, his mouth is set in a firm, straight line, like he's serious about something. Chris lets go and starts drawing back, not sure what the fuck is going on, and it's as if that releases something in Sebastian. He turns his head away but his body follows Chris's movement, with an urgent but checked motion, and Chris gives up and pulls Seb into his arms, feeling Seb's breath push out in a sigh of relief but his muscles tensing up simultaneously. He holds on, one arm wrapped around Seb's waist and his palm in the small of Seb's back, the other across his shoulders, pressing their chests together. At first Seb doesn't relax, but then his hands slip up Chris's back, one on either side of his spine, holding tightly, and he rests his head on Chris's shoulder, breath hitching a little. He's shaking, trembling really, and Chris realizes he's trying not to cry again. He kisses the top of Seb's head lightly, not wanting to overwhelm him, then can't help putting his face against Seb's hair and breathing in. 

"What the hell is it? What happened?" he says softly, next to Sebastian's ear, and tries walking them to the edge of the bed, but he has to haul Sebastian along some. Now Sebastian's clutching him in a kind of death grip, his body plastered along Chris's from shoulders to thighs, and it's hard to move them both without falling onto the mattress, but Chris manages it. It's hardly the most suave he's ever been, but Seb winds up half in his _lap_ (God, his legs are heavy), his face buried in Chris's neck, arms tight around his middle -- Chris can feel Seb's hands locked together behind his back, like he's afraid Chris might push him off or some damn thing. He's pretty sure Seb isn't up to talking yet, at least not while he's still trying to keep the tears back, so he keeps holding on, not sure what else he can do, what else would be good. He helps support Seb with one arm across his back, his left hand holding Seb's right shoulder, his right hand on the back of Seb's head, lightly stroking through his hair, feeling the thick strands going from stiff to soft and back again. 

Seb says something but he can't make it out, he just feels the vibrations of Seb's voice against his skin. His breathing is fast and shallow, and feels high up in his chest. Chris says "It's okay," mindlessly comforting, "I got you, I'm not going anywhere, okay? I'm right here, I'm staying right here," the words meaningless but trying to say _you're okay, we're here, it's safe._ After a while Seb's breathing slows, evens out, and Chris can feel his arms loosening, but he won't look at Chris. Chis wonders if he's embarrassed at breaking down or asking Chris to come over in the first place, it's hard to tell which Sebastian would find worse. Chris doesn't think he's ever seen Seb really upset, or admit that he's unhappy about something -- he's much more likely to sardonically poke fun at himself, like when he tells on himself about running into a refrigerator on-set while meeting Robert Redford, or falling off a motorcycle repeatedly the first time he had to ride one for _Civil War._ He doesn't openly show anger or regret or anxiety, the way Chris does. Chris guesses it's because of his background, journeying from Bucharest to Vienna to New York before he was ten years old, always thrown back on his own resources, not rooted in family and place the way Chris has been all his life. It's not that Seb has a public mask, exactly, or a persona, it's more like a smokescreen of flirting and jokes and mock complaints that make for good copy and almost never reveal anything personal. He and Mackie both excel at the just-guys-having-fun pretense in junkets that Chris can't handle -- the silly surface discussions that make his social anxiety kick in, because he feels like he's playing some sort of game he knows he shouldn't be wasting time and energy on, not anything honest, nothing from the heart. Just noise, static, nothing meaningful, trash -- he knows he's melodramatic about it, but after long enough (which isn't long at all) he starts feeling like it's all a river of garbage, and he's stuck in it, contributing to it, that he's giving his life to the wrong thing and has to get out. But both Seb and Mackie know how to get above it, have fun with it, deal with it because it's part of the job; it doesn't touch them inside. They both learned early on how to be self-sufficient, put up walls, seal part of themselves away.

But now, Chris is pretty sure that Seb isn't able to hide much from _him._ It's not only that they've been fucking, or the regular intimacy of people being able to read each others' faces, gestures, like words on a page, although that's some of it. It's more like they've exposed themselves to each other, and once you do that, once you've seen what's really there, all shields lowered and defenses dropped, it's like you can't _unsee_ it afterwards. If you know what you're looking at, if you've seen it just a couple of times, you know it's still there. It's not the obvious physical tells other people can see, like when Sebastian pushes back his hair and licks his lips and rattles his knees around restlessly when he first sits down. Maybe it's something that just goes along with fucking someone, the shamelessness and unself-conscious need and the feeling that _now, here, whatever you want, it's okay and you can have it,_ as much as you can take; but Chris doesn't think so, or at least that hasn't always been his experience, anyway. It's terrifying if you think about it the wrong way, all your secrets exposed, vulnerabilities unhidden. When Chris does think about it, which isn't that often, he doesn't feel so much pride or possessiveness but a sudden startling almost angry need to protect Sebastian from other people -- fucking who? _Everyone else_ \-- to make sure nobody sees him that vulnerable, knows how they could hurt him in just what way. It's an overreaction, and probably not even necessary -- after all Seb's a grown man who lives in New York and works in a tough business and is more than capable of taking care of himself, has been doing so for a long time -- but now, here, with Sebastian in his arms, Chris has to wonder. 

It's an almost savage, painfully tender feeling. It's maybe like when he felt protective of Scott when they were growing up, when Scott sometimes told him about being bullied or harassed by bigots at school or on the street. Except this is worse, because it doesn't have a limited focus the way that did. In a weird way it's not exactly pleasant, it's so intense -- maybe the closest feeling he's had to it is when he's trying to help little kids with cancer have a better day, show up and make them smile by being himself, being there, in the goddamn costume; it's so simple, and doesn't actually help them, but you can tell it means everything to them right then. That feeling of _I would do anything, anything I could for you,_ combined with the knowledge of how much you're not really able to do at all. It burns everything inessential away. Seb and Chris can still joke around, shoot the shit, play at being just regular guys together, but it's difficult to keep things from each other anymore. Chris is used to that -- his mom used to say he couldn't tell a lie to save his life -- but he thinks Seb isn't, and maybe that's why he's been wary, maybe that's why he's been pushing Chris away, letting distance pile up between them. 

Chris tangles his fingers in Sebastian's hair and pulls, not enough to raise him up by force, more a signal for him to lift his head. Sebastian puts his forehead against Chris's, and his hands go to Chris's shoulders, but that's it. He takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly, but doesn't say anything. Chris can't tell if he wants to talk but can't figure out how to start, or if he doesn't want to talk but also doesn't want to tell Chris to fuck off, or what -- Chris feels like he has no clue. Less than no clue. He raises his own head and presses his lips against Sebastian's forehead, trying not to think or worry, not let his monkey mind jerk him around. Sebastian wanted him here, he's here, and that's enough, for right now. He feels his shoulders ease up a bit, and as if that's a signal of his own, Sebastian leans away, just far enough to look him in the eye. They're so close Chris can feel Seb's breath on his cheek, the liquid click in Seb's throat as he swallows. 

Sebastian says, quietly, "Sorry," and Chris frowns.

"Sorry about what?" He puts one hand on Sebastian's shoulder, pushes Sebastian's hair back from his forehead and temple with the other. Sebastian leans into the touch slightly, twists his mouth and looks down.

"Calling you, in the middle of the _night_....making a big deal....you know." His shoulders move forward in a half-shrug; Chris feels the muscles move under his hand, and then he catches Sebastian's face in both hands lightly as he can.

"You don't have to apologize," he says carefully. "It's okay if you want to....need to call me. I want to be here."

Seb puts his own hands over Chris's, then takes them down from his face, gently, but keeps holding them. "I don't think, I can't....I don't want to talk about it right now," he says, with a cautious bravery that breaks Chris's heart, like Sebastian thinks Chris won't want to stay if Seb doesn't start spilling his guts. "That's okay," he says immediately, "it's all right -- no, I mean it," and Sebastian smiles, shaking his head, still looking down. 

"I know," he says, "I know you mean it, you always mean it...." And then he does look up at Chris, and Chris has to catch his breath at someone with eyes like that looking at _him_ like that, like -- he doesn't know what to compare it to. It's a look he gets lost in, every time. 

"You have beautiful eyes," he says without thinking, even more unguarded than he usually is, and Seb looks embarrassed, which can't be right because hasn't Chris told him that before? "They are, they're gorgeous," he says, in case he hasn't, and Seb's actually blushing, he leans back and covers his eyes the way he does, like he's trying to hide his embarrassment. Chris feels himself starting to grin, and he gently takes hold of Seb's hand, lifts it away from his face. Seb tries to turn away, but there's nowhere to go. "You're fucking blushing," Chris says and kisses him. "You didn't blush when _Mackie_ talked about your beautiful steel blue eyes. Just me, hunh?" Seb's laughing in embarrassment, trying to say something, but he says a couple of words Chris doesn't understand -- German or maybe Romanian, he can't tell -- and finally mutters "Dammit, _English!"_ at himself, so Chris quits teasing. 

_"I_ thought they were blue, for a long time," he says, "'cause I didn't want to stare, back when....on the first movie, you know? But then one day on set, I think it was in the bar scene, I realized, _wait, they're not blue!_ I think 'cause the light -- "

"Yeah, it was different, the way they lit -- "

"Don't fucking change the subject." Sebastian really laughs at that, mouth going wide. "And I thought, _wow,_ they're really unusual. Exotic. Like you."

 _"Exotic,"_ Sebastian scoffs, low, like he's heard that one too many times. But Chris shakes his head, serious.

"They're not that common, you know -- I think I knew one other person with grey eyes -- "

"Oh yeah? Who?"

"Jesus, I don't remember, okay? Some girl, at a party in L.A. when I first got here, I think....her eyes were darker than yours, though, and she was a redhead. Really pale skin. -- Wait, I think I noticed 'cause you were _flirting_ with me." Sebastian laughs again.

"I was flirting with _you?_ You were the one who changed the line about the outfit -- "

"You flirted first! You know what, you flirt all the time, but when someone gives it _back,_ or no, if you get a really nice compliment, you turn into Bashful. Like it's the last thing you're expecting. Like when Sharon Stone -- "

"Could you _please_ not bring that up again -- "

"No! It's classic! She said you were, what, _cute?_ and that was it. Boom! Down for the count."

"It _was_ Sharon fucking Stone, you realize. That scene in _Basic Instinct -- "_

"Yeah, yeah, it's not just that. It's like you can't believe it," Chris says, mouth getting far ahead of him like fucking usual. "Like it's not real? Yeah -- yeah, I can, I know how that goes."

"Fuck you, Evans, you don't know me," Sebastian mutters, embarrassed again, so Chris kisses him in apology. Sebastian's face is a little higher than his, while he's still sitting on Chris's lap, and he bends down and runs his tongue along Chris's lower lip, catches it in his teeth for a second and then he's kissing Chris intently, sucking on his tongue and biting at his lip again, not breaking away to get his breath, not holding anything back. It's hard for Chris to get enough of kissing -- he thinks he almost likes it better than anything else sometimes, he's certainly had more fun while making out than some sexual experiences -- but it's overwhelming, in a good way, especially when Seb's hand drops to his crotch and he palms Chris's half-hard dick through his sweatpants, smiling slyly. "That all right?" Seb asks, low, maybe getting back some of his own for the teasing, and Chris can't even mind, he pushes back up against Sebastian's hand. 

"That's _all right,_ yeah," he manages, his voice strained. "You don't have to fucking ask _permission_ , you know that -- "

"No," Sebastian says, cutting him off, "no, I know, but I want -- I need to know you want -- "

"You know I want it, whatever you fuckin' want," Chris says, sounding way more low and dirty than he ever intended. "Whatever you want. I'll always say yes." He stops whatever moral objection Sebastian feels like having to that by squeezing Seb's dick, warm and hard already, through his thin pants, wet spots forming on the fabric. Seb's eyes go wide and dark and he grinds up helplessly against Chris, back arching under Chris's other hand, and Chris uses the moment to ease Seb off his legs, balancing his weight with that one hand, while getting him to lower onto the bed like he's wanted ever since they first sat down. They're too far down on the bed, but he doesn't care. He pulls his arm out from around and under Sebastian and works it behind his head instead, holding the back of Seb's neck in that familiar gesture, gets his knees on either side of Sebastian's hips and puts his forehead against Sebastian's again, breathing quietly. 

He can feel Seb's body relaxing under his, his body settling against the bed underneath him and Chris on top of him, and he sits back and starts pulling up the bottom of Seb's sweatshirt. Seb arches up and lifts his arms to help and Chris thinks he hears him whisper something like _thank fuck_ which doesn't make sense, but he's not paying attention, he's stroking his hands up and down Seb's arms, his chest, the hard lines of his stomach. Seb makes a protesting noise, not quite words, and reaches up for Chris's T-shirt and hoodie; Chris leans away and skins himself out of both of them all at once in a wad of fabric, definitely not at his most dignified but he still doesn't care. He tosses their clothes aside and pins both of Seb's hands to the bed with his own, easing down on top of Seb, and kisses him lightly, their lips barely brushing, no more than a flick of tongue, until Seb's straining up against him, wanting more. Chris shifts his weight to one elbow, runs his hand down Seb's chest from the top of his shoulder to his waist, then the ridge of his hip, squeezing gently to feel the hard muscle and harder bone underneath. Seb tries to press up into his touch, but Chris shakes his head, lifting his hand. He says _shh, no, let me, just let me take care of you,_ and feels Sebastian lie back again, stomach muscles relaxing as Chris traces the line between his hip and stomach muscles with two fingers, then one, gentle, trailing his hand up and down. Seb tips his chin up, his shoulders going flat as he breathes out long and deep, which is what Chris was waiting for. 

He kisses right under Sebastian's jaw, then right next to that, and on and on down to the hollow of Seb's throat. He licks there, presses an open-mouth kiss where he can feel Seb's pulse, and sucks lightly, feeling the vibrations of Seb's groan under his lips. Chris moves further down, traces a line with his tongue from Seb's throat to his left nipple and then barely presses his mouth to it, breathing out, and feels Seb's body jolt up. He licks once, twice, as slowly as he can, then bears down gradually. Sebastian's torso twists and jerks under Chris, and he tries shoving his hips up but Chris holds them down with his own body weight. He reaches over and pinches Seb's right nipple, at first tweaking it, then increasing the pressure until Seb gasps and meets his eyes. Chris is nowhere near as good as Sebastian at getting someone to that sweet spot between pain and pleasure (Seb seems to have had _a lot_ of practice) and then overloading them with sensation until the intensity blows the circuits. But he's getting much better at it. He rolls Seb's nipple between his fingertips, just this side of too hard, and Seb lets out a soft "Fu-uuuck" that turns into a laugh and his head drops back. He pushes his hips up at Chris again, his cock pressing against Chris's thigh, but Chris ignores it and flattens his tongue over Seb's nipple again, then scrapes it lightly with his teeth while he keeps playing with the other one. Seb writhes underneath him. "You fucking tease," he pants.

"Learned it from watching you," Chris deadpans, to make him laugh, and when Seb does he sucks hard and grabs Seb's shoulders, fingers digging into the skin. Sebastian cries out _"Oh -- "_ and bucks up so hard underneath him he nearly throws Chris off. Chris sinks his teeth into Seb's chest under his collarbone, running his tongue over the smooth skin and feeling the resistance of muscle underneath. Sebastian gasps, breath harsh going in and coming out of his throat, twists underneath Chris again, rolling his hips up underneath Chris but with maybe a hint of protest in his movements, the change in his breathing. Chris licks and kisses the spot to soothe it, feeling the indentations of his own teeth under his mouth, then stops himself and slides down Seb's body. He pushes Seb's sweatpants down, feeling his thighs taut and shivering under Chris's palms as he strokes up and down. He fits his thumbs into the crease over Seb's hipbones, and finally takes the head into his mouth, lightly sucking. He's had a while now to get used to the idea of not just giving blowjobs but of getting off on them, too, getting lost in the sounds and helpless motions Seb makes the more turned on he gets, feeling Seb go completely out of control and knowing he made that happen, nobody else. He's probably still not great at giving head but he knows what Seb likes now, like how wet open-mouthed kisses along the side of Seb's cock draw the best sounds out of Seb, little soft almost unwilling moans, like he can't believe how Chris is making him feel.

Chris _is_ a lot better at deep-throating, mostly through stubborn persistence. Sebastian wouldn't ever ask for it but Chris has felt how Seb completely loses it when Chris does it, especially if he can keep it slow and steady. Doing it slow works out better for his gag reflex, too, once he gets past the initial choking feeling, so he settles himself between Seb's legs -- one of his own legs is hanging too far off the edge of the bed but it doesn't matter -- and hangs on to Seb's hips, trying not to clutch too tightly, finding the right slow-motion rhythm as he goes down, further down, all the way down, waits with his face pressed against Seb's stomach, then eases back up again. The pace drives Seb crazy gratifyingly soon, the same way every time, as if this is a fantasy he never dreamed could actually happen. Chris tastes Seb's tart precome as his thighs begin to quiver and Seb reaches out for Chris's shoulders, arms, settling one hand too lightly on his hair like he's afraid to pin Chris down. After a few more passes, Seb's entire body is lightly shaking and Chris can hear his rasping breath echo in the quiet high-ceilinged hotel room, so he knows Seb is close and starts sucking a bit harder. But Seb mutters something -- Chris can't make it out -- and reaches down to grab Chris's wrist. 

Chris at first thinks he's doing something wrong, or then that Sebastian wants to hold his hand or thrust his fingers into Chris's mouth, feel Chris sucking on them as well as his cock, but Sebastian gets more frustrated as Chris tries to figure it out, and finally says "No, no, Chris -- get up -- up here, _please,_ I need -- " Chris finally lets Sebastian's cock slip out of his mouth and then Seb really yanks on his shoulder, but then pushes on his back and Chris finally gets it. It's the way Seb keeps whispering _please_ more than anything else, and he says out loud "Okay, okay. Just -- wait a sec, let's figure it out," and he turns, on his hands and knees, then tries to lie on his side and get Seb's cock into his mouth again, upside-down. But Sebastian grabs at his thighs -- _Jesus_ he's strong, Chris has known that for a while, but it's like something else is powering his grip -- and gets Chris's knees up above his shoulders, on either side of his head. Chris is pretty sure Seb is deep-throating _him_ now due to their positions, and he tries to keep from thrusting mindlessly into Seb's mouth, but with his own mouth full of Seb's cock and one of Seb's hands clenching on the back of his thigh and the other squeezing his ass, trying to control himself is a lost cause. Seb knows Chris likes it faster and harder during hand and blowjobs than he does, so he keeps pushing down on Chris's ass and raising his own head up at the same time like he wants to swallow Chris whole. 

Chris just holds on, his own technique, what there is of it, rapidly going, trying not to bite or choke himself and keep his balance all at the same time. He groans, the sound loud but muffled by Seb's cock, and Seb's hips jerk violently and he comes. Chris sucks him through it gently and licks him clean, not teasing but not wanting to let Seb out of his mouth either, and he keeps Seb's softening cock between his lips. Seb slows down a moment -- the guy apparently has _no_ fucking gag reflex, which both amazes Chris and makes him a little anxious, wondering how the hell that happened -- and Chris feels Seb's fingers sliding in his own mouth, by Chris's cock, then slickly circling around his hole. Chris groans "Oh _Jesus,_ God" and rests his head against Seb's hard thigh, down on his elbows now and his hands gripping Seb's legs, as Seb slips one finger in. Chris knows the noise he makes as he comes is _way_ too fucking loud, even in a pretty soundproof hotel room, and his thighs shake as Seb's mouth closes tight around him and he sucks hard, like he wants every last drop. Chris winces away and Seb lets him go -- Chris lands heavily on his side, kisses the head of Seb's cock gently and takes it in his mouth again, circling it with the tip of his tongue. Seb strokes the backs of his thighs, lightly now, and then pulls demandingly at Chris again until they're facing each other. He guides Chris's head to his shoulder and Chris buries his face in Sebastian's neck, both of them resting, breathing hard.

Later, Chris isn't really sure how it happens -- he sure as fuck isn't thinking clearly, or thinking at all. He shifts his hips, gets his leg in between Sebastian's thighs, feeling the wet softness, and barely brushes his mouth along Seb's neck, following the curve of his shoulder and back up. Seb wraps his arms around Chris's waist, turning his head to the side and baring his throat, and that's all it takes. Chris lets himself down on his forearms, one on either side of Sebastian's head, and kisses the side of Seb's neck open-mouthed and then stops, breathing over the same spot, so close he can almost feel the down-fine hairs stiffening up. Seb squirms underneath him and his hips jerk up, like he can't help it. Chris smiles against Sebastian's skin and then bites down hard, mouth open, his tongue pushing at the ring of Seb's flesh trapped beneath his teeth. Seb's hips snap up again, this time a lot harder, and he keeps pushing them against Chris while Chris scrapes his teeth over the spot, then licks and kisses at Seb's hot skin, gentle and soothing. He shifts his weight to his left forearm so he can cup the side of Seb's neck in his right hand, press up against it when he bites down again, and times it so he grinds his own hips hard down on Seb as Seb's reacting to the bite again. Seb starts muttering _oh God,_ oh _God, oh God, oh_ God in a senseless rhythm and Chris wonders far-off if he could make Seb come just from doing this. He backs off, drags his tongue down along the sharp line of Seb's jaw back to the hollow of his throat where his pulse beats fast, lets his right hand drift down to Seb's nipple and rubs his fingertips lightly over it, then his fingernails. He rolls it between his thumb and forefinger, then bears down and digs his teeth into Seb's neck, not a nip, more the promise of another bite, and Seb actually whimpers, that's the only word for it. The sound does something to Chris's head and he pinches Seb's nipple, not that hard, and says "What do you _want"_ in Seb's ear -- it's not really a question, more like a demand. 

"You," Seb says, sounding desperate in the half-dark, his hands clutching at Chris's back. "I want you, Chris -- "

"What do you _want,"_ Chris repeats, louder, not sure what he's saying, and he bends down to kiss Seb instead of bite his neck again, more demanding than he's ever been, with Seb or anyone, until he has to break off to breathe. Sebastian's gasping underneath him and he says "Just you, all the time. Always," sounding honest and young and broken. They're so close Chris can feel Seb's breath on his own mouth when he says it. He mindlessly nudges at Seb's jaw with his chin, trying to get back at his neck, and sucks hard when Seb turns his head and lets him do it, not biting this time but marking Seb up as hard as he can, wanting to do it, needing to make the claim, make it visible the way Seb did in the van the other day. Seb groans and his fingers clutch hard at Chris's sides, slide up over his back to his shoulders, hanging on. Chris indulges himself for just a few more minutes, eyes shut tight and rocking them back and forth a little, before he finally makes himself let go and rests his face against Seb's hair, which has a bright fake shampoo scent and smoke underneath that and something else, dark and animal, maybe musk and sweat. 

"I missed you," he says to Seb, under cover of the dim light and the afterglow and the current of power that flows back and forth between them like something visible. _Missed_ instead of _want_ or _need_ or even _love._ He stretches over to kiss Seb's mouth once, briefly; it might feel chaste except it's the opposite, there's so much held back. He catches a glimpse of the mark he just made and winces; it's lurid, even in the low light.

"I know," Seb says, his voice cracking, but sounding better than he did -- sympathetic in a crazy way, like he knows how much Chris did miss him and how fucked the situation is, and it's like he didn't want it to be this way, either, except it was also like they couldn't choose, it just happened. (But if they could, they'd choose it anyway, or at least Chris would -- but "choose" doesn't mean anything, not with this, it would be like your lungs choosing air over water.) "I missed you too." Chris feels something actually painful in his chest, which is ridiculous -- it's not like they spent any real time apart, they still managed to _fuck,_ but it's true, they were both letting the connection between them slip away. Except it hadn't felt like an easy fade-out, it had hurt like hell.

"I _am_ right _here,"_ Seb says, a little drolly, and it's a joke but it's the same kind of reassurance: here they are, stuck in this, together. 

"Yeah, I....kinda noticed," Chris says, and they almost laugh, although Seb's voice sounds wet, choked-up, which makes Chris worry again. He thinks of a line from a book he read about parenting, of all things: a woman realizing after her son was born that although she could go through, had already gone through, all sorts of shit, if anything happened to him, she would be "fucked unto the Lord," as she put it. It's terrifying, to realize you need someone that much, that you'd be that fucked-up without them, that it would break your heart. It's probably behind all the dumbass _fear of commitment_ people talk about. Committing, saying yes, isn't the problem; it's everything that could get fucked unto the Lord after that. It's so terrifying that if you were given a choice to do it again, from the very beginning, you might say no....except you couldn't. It would be like saying no to taking another breath.

And then Chris thinks, for something that maybe possibly started out as, if not a joke on Sebastian's part, then something certainly a lot less serious than what this has turned into, shit has gotten completely out of hand for both of them.

Right then Seb says, as if he's reading Chris's mind (or the expression on his face, more like), "I was thinking, that first time I....you know, in Hayley's bathroom, when....I thought, I can at least try, to....show him I'm interested. And if you weren't, then....at least I had, you know, been willing to go for it, and it'd probably suck if you said no, but we'd be okay. I mean I thought, if you turned me down, _that_ would be the hard part -- " but he can't go on, because they're both laughing. Chris raises himself up off Seb and flops over, so they're both lying on their backs, and Seb puts his thigh over Chris's, twines his foot under Chris's calf. Chris reaches down and finds Seb's hand, squeezes it tight. 

"Oh, Jesus fuck," he sighs, still laughing a little, unable to stop, it's like hiccups. "Fucking hell, dude. What the fuck did you get us into?"

"....Sorry?" Seb says, trying for absolute innocence but sounding on the edge of hilarity instead. 

"Don't -- don't you dare apologize," Chris says, starting to come down off the sex high and the laughter. He holds Seb harder, waves their hands back and forth in the air in time with his words. "Don't -- you -- fucking -- dare."

"I wouldn't -- I won't. I'm not. It's a joke -- "

"I know. I know," Chris says, and closes his eyes, feeling not tired exactly, but like the weight of everything that's happened is bearing down on him all at once. _What the fuck are we gonna do._ "I did miss you," he repeats quietly.

"I know, I missed -- I did miss you, too. I missed you." Chris can't see Sebastian's face, but he can hear the earnestness. He raises their joined hands to his mouth, brushes his lips along Sebastian's knuckles.

"No, that's stupid. We saw each other nearly every damn day...." He stops, because he's a lot more shaken up than he wants to reveal. Sebastian doesn't say anything, but pulls him close after a minute, both of them on their sides now, palm stroking down the center of Chris's back in a slow and steady rhythm, his other hand on the back of Chris's neck, not moving. Chris feels his breathing start to even out, matching Seb's, matching the rhythm of Seb's hand on his back. 

"No, no....I know," Seb says, his voice as soothing as the touch of his hands. "I do." They're both quiet a while longer, and Seb says, like he's admitting something shameful, "That scene fucked me up, you know, the....last one."

Chris opens his eyes, startled for a moment at how bright the room seems after having his eyes closed. "Yeah, I kinda gathered," he says dryly, and Seb digs his fingernails hard into Chris's back. _"Ow._ I mean, yeah, I figured _afterward,_ but at least you weren't the one losing your shit during the actual _filming."_

"Really? No, you looked fine -- " Chris hisses air through his teeth in exasperation, and Sebastian drops it. "Okay. All right. But it was just, you know, how we were acting out the....they were saying goodbye, maybe forever, and didn't know when they'd be -- I know it wasn't the same thing for us, there's all the movies coming up -- but it was like they were, their connection was all they had, and then...." He's stopped stroking Chris's back, and his grip tightens.

"They had to let each other go," Chris says quietly. "Yeah."

"I think it was more fun than the time they had me explain brainwashing to a six-year-old live on national TV," Seb says, and Chris snorts. "But it just, you know, kind of....it was like this _parallel_ I guess, I don't know. It was too much." Chris can't think of anything to say to that, especially since he had the same problem. "Yeah," he whispers.

Sebastian goes on, halting but determined, like he's made up his mind to get all of this out no matter how much it doesn't sound like he wants it to. "I just, I thought I....I thought it would be better, for both of us, if we just....didn't, if we kind of....you know, so it wouldn't hurt so much, when...."

"You should have talked to me," Chris says, no blame in his voice. "I mean, I'm a fuckin' hypocrite, because I didn't say anything either, I just didn't know what was going on, but -- "

"No, I know. I'm just such a fucking idiot. I couldn't figure out what to say. I thought, it'd be easier, if...."

"It wasn't easier," Chris says, keeping his voice level with effort. "I really missed you." He can't believe he keeps repeating that dumb phrase, but it's like _missed you_ has to stand in for everything else right now, all the passion and insecurity and the doubt about what the hell it is they're doing, and where it can possibly go, if anywhere at all. Seb makes a strained sound, something that might be a sob but he's determined to laugh.

"I was an _asshole,_ Chris. I was a jerk, like, the worst kind of jerk, and you're just....it's like you're okay with it. With me."

"Yeah. I am. -- You're always okay, with me," Chris says, trying to put everything he feels for Sebastian into it.

"But, I was a dumbass. I hurt you," Sebastian insists.

"Yeah, you were. And yeah, you did. And it doesn't matter."

"How can you just say -- " Sebastian starts again, frustrated and even guilty.

"Because it doesn't," Chris says with finality. "Not to me."

Sebastian breathes in, a long shuddering sigh, and his hold eases up. "That's probably....not totally healthy," he says, in a slightly better tone, and Chris has to laugh.

"Probably not. But that's how it is."

Sebastian shakes his head, but leans in to kiss him; Chris is a little shocked by how instantly ready he is for the touch of Sebastian's mouth, giving in immediately, his hands moving all over Seb, up his body from hip to ribs and over his shoulders, through his hair. "Don't you -- _ever_ \-- fucking do that again," he mutters against Seb's mouth between kisses, mock-scolding like Seb did something everyday dangerous, like crossing a busy street against the light without looking. 

"I won't. I _am_ sorry, I won't -- " Sebastian sounds so honestly distressed now Chris is the one who's sorry.

"No, no, we're okay now, right? We're always okay, you know that." Seb smiles a little weakly.

"Why -- why did you come over, tonight?" he asks softly. "Why were you so good to me about -- all that crap?"

Chris hesitates, caught between _I love you_ and _I feel like it,_ chooses a weak third: "I want to be."

"You don't have to be...."

"I know. I want to." It does feel like he _has_ to, but he doesn't want to say that to Seb, not out loud.

Seb looks like he's holding back tears -- his eyes glitter in the dim light -- but he sniffs and says, "You know, maybe _you're_ a little bit of a dumbass."

Chris laughs and kisses Seb again, feeling a weird mix of relief and silliness, not euphoric but maybe punch-drunk. "Yeah, but I'm _your_ dumbass." Seb laughs too, and relaxes into the kiss, but he still looks too upset for Chris to be happy. So he takes a deep breath and says, carefully, "It wasn't easier. Just for the record. Not being....with you."

"No," Seb says ruefully. "God, no. -- We're fucking fucked." Chris has to smile at how strange his own repeated thought sounds, coming from Seb's mouth.

"Yeah, I know. We _are_ fucked. It's okay though." Seb laughs. "I know. I know. But it's okay, I swear." They're both talking more slowly, their voices bottoming out; Sebastian almost always has vocal fry, but now he sounds gravelly, like one of Chris's old-school chainsmoking Boston cousins. They haven't cleaned up, which is a little strange since Sebastian is so into what some websites have told Chris is _aftercare,_ but Chris guesses they're both too wiped right now to care much about it. They'll probably be crusty and sorry in the morning, but that's way too far off to think about. Sebastian's eyes are closed, his lashes a long impossible fringe resting on his cheeks, and Chris doesn't want to wake him up but he asks softly: "Want me to stay?"

"I told you, I always want you to stay," Seb says in a normal voice, not asleep at all, but without opening his eyes. Chris is so tired he says "Not _al_ ways" a little sharply, and he immediately regrets it when Sebastian draws back, looking at him with those giant fucking tragic Bambi eyes, and says, "I know, I'm so sorr -- "

"Oh Jesus, no. No, I was just being a shit. _I'm_ sorry," Chris says, melting at the sound of anxiety -- fear, maybe -- in Sebastian's voice. But Seb keeps on talking.

"I just, I thought I blew it....I kept thinking, I'm going to blow it. With you."

"Not gonna happen. It's not."

"That's why," Seb says, not sounding like he's blaming himself anymore, but so sad Chris squeezes his shoulder hard, automatically comforting. "I was just being chickenshit. Like if I didn't just sit and wait for it to be over, if I just...."

His voice is so full of regret Chris says "Okay, look. Stop," trying to sound as authoritative as he can, maybe even a little Steve Rogers-ish. "It's not. Gonna. Happen, Seb, okay? I swear. It's not. You're not gonna blow it. Now if you wanna blow _me,_ on the other hand -- "

Seb laughs unwillingly, like Chris just jabbed him in the side. "God, you're a menace. Like, a fucking _cannibal."_

"Cannibal?"

"You know what I mean. Barbarian."

"You mean _American,"_ Chris says, smug.

"Yeah. That too. Definitely." Seb takes a breath, and Chris tries to wait him out, hear what he says next. "I mean, I meant....I dunno. I guess I don't know what to do, now, with this....Us. What we're gonna do."

"Yeah, well...." Chris thinks, wanting to say something good. "We don't have to figure it all out right now -- or even decide -- we can just, you know, go to sleep. Think about what's next, in the morning. Take the next thing that happens."

Seb's half-asleep again, his voice so low in his throat Chris can barely make it out. "You and your goddamn Zen....it's just, it's scary. How much I need to have you here."

"You got me," Chris promises, smoothing Sebastian's hair, pushing the heavy strands off his face. "You know you got me."

"You sound so sure."

"I am. Come on. Stop thinking and go to sleep." Chris rolls over on his back, draws Seb down with him, over him. "C'mon. C'mere." He drapes Seb's arm over himself; Seb closes his hand over the top of Chris's shoulder, settles himself on Chris's chest and tries to work his other arm under Chris. Chris catches his hand. "Nuh-uh, it'll go to sleep that way. Here." He puts Sebastian's hand behind his head instead, and Sebastian squeezes the back of his neck, hard, but just once. He runs his hand through Sebastian's hair, teasing out some tangles that are threatening to turn into snarls, trying to make the rhythm of his movements regular, reassuring. It takes a little bit, but seems to work: Sebastian's core relaxes against Chris, he can feel the muscles in his shoulders and chest and stomach soften and give slightly, and Sebastian's weight gets heavier, not the deadweight of sleep, but getting closer. "Light," Sebastian mutters into Chris's skin, "it's too bright for you."

"It's fine." Sebastian makes a barely-awake protesting noise, and Chris says, "It's okay for right now, I'll let you know if it's keeping me up, all right?" and he doesn't even get a nod. He flattens his palm against the back of Sebastian's head, feeling the shape of his skull through his hair, and rubs slowly but hard with the tips of his fingers, pushing his thumb against the spot where his head joins his neck. He knows Seb isn't asleep yet, but he's close, so it's a little bit of a surprise when Seb turns his head and opens his eyes, looks at Chris from about two inches away.

Chris knows it bothers Seb some, the objectification that goes along with the adulation they get, how closely fans observe the way he licks and chews at his bottom lip, analyze his body language, speculate on when he got his teeth fixed or what various bracelets and rings and necklaces _mean,_ like he's a walking riddle. It doesn't get to Seb as much as it does Chris (does _anything_ get to Seb as much as it does Chris? Probably not) and it's just part of the business, especially if you're a young good-looking man in the movies. And fans have always been like this, it used to be photo magazines instead of websites. Chris remembers the first time he saw Seb, at that goddamn _First Avenger_ table read, in what turned out to be the last couple of hours when Chris could see him like everyone else did: he'd registered Sebastian's light eyes, pale skin, dark hair and brows, red mouth and well-defined lips, thought _They got the Black Irish look all right,_ and _wow, good-looking kid._ They've talked a little bit about how fucking weird it is, growing up total dorks and now living _this:_ it's one thing to be in Hollywood, where every person is rated like beef, prime or scraps, and it's another thing entirely to receive this scrutiny on absolutely every level, from everyday fans to reporters to casting directors to movie studio heads. Sometimes Chris thinks, _I had a perfectly good life I traded in for all this._ But it brought him Sebastian, still looking levelly at him even this close up, so he can't ever indulge in that road-not-taken bullshit again. He wants just this, the two of them lying together about to fall asleep, so badly he'd do anything for it.

And Sebastian's beautiful, but for Chris the beauty in him now is something that transcends the shape of his face, the stiff waves of his hair and the way the line of his jaw echoes his cheekbones and how it all fits into some symmetrical pattern that human beings supposedly evolved over thousands of years to consider appealing, and that Hollywood casting agents, maybe the absolute front line in the survival of the fittest, can evaluate within a tenth of a decimal point like Olympic judges. (It reminds Chris of that old awful movie _Looker_ where the beautiful model says she isn't pretty because her nose is two millimeters too narrow.) Chris doesn't care too much about all that bullshit; he's dated his share of models and actresses and model slash actress slash waitresses, but the girls he's fallen hardest for probably wouldn't even be considered _pretty_ by most of the people he works with. They'd certainly never get cast in anything. He doesn't consider himself "specimen," although he knows he has to keep in shape and maintain the look, but if he thinks about it too much he starts feeling this weird disconnect from his own body. He knows Scarlett and Hayley probably feel that every day, have felt it all their lives, and he has it easy, but it's so disorienting he tries to shut it down, not think about it. That shit will literally drive you crazy, fast. And it's the last thing he wants to do to Sebastian, this person he needs to protect more than anyone else now, but there's still no other word for him than _beautiful,_ even if Chris now needs it to mean something different than what everyone else does when they say it.

Sebastian's mouth curves up slowly in that sharp grin Chris loves and Chris realizes he probably said it out loud again. Seb leans up and over Chris to kiss him, nothing urgent, not wanting much of anything, just giving him easy light kisses that usually turn into making out but for now are almost lazy, undemanding. It feels like they could go on like this for days. Then Sebastian bites down very gently on Chris's lip and Chris can't help it, he cracks up, Sebastian moving on his chest as he laughs.

 _"You're_ the menace. C'mon. Let's go to sleep." He presses down with one hand so he can kiss Sebastian's forehead, guides Seb's head to rest again on his shoulder, watching his eyes start to shut again, and then wraps both arms around Sebastian. He feels Seb's breathing turn slow and deep against his shoulder, Seb's weight heavy on him from neck to waist to hip, one of Seb's thighs shoved in between his, warm and hard and reassuring, _I'm here, you're here, we're together._ Chris can't see Seb's face anymore, but he remembers the look in his eyes, and holds onto Seb as tightly as he can -- too tight, he knows, but neither of them give a fuck -- and doesn't let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian's ringtone for Chris is Vladimir Horowitz's transcription of "The Star-Spangled Banner." I've known a couple of Eastern European immigrants who played piano, and they were pretty fond of it.
> 
> The anecdote about "fucked unto the Lord" is from Anne Lamott's _Operating Instructions: A Journal of My Son's First Year._

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, "Angie" at the very start is a little nod to Angie Cartinelli in _Agent Carter._ I loved that show and miss it terribly.
> 
> Steve's running route at the beginning of _The Winter Soldier_ has been deeply and hilariously analyzed in [a Tumblr post which is a thing of beauty and a joy forever.](http://sashayed.tumblr.com/post/146611331850/sashayed-i-started-thinking-absently-about) To me it's a great example of how in Hollywood, locations are chosen for how they _look,_ not for having anything to do with reality, but also how film buffs, like life, _find a way._
> 
> Chris's thoughts at the beginning are drawn a lot from the excellent _Rolling Stone_ interview. (In these stories I've typically woven in a lot of quotes from interviews or candid videos in general.)
> 
> Yes, I was totally self-indulgent and Seb is yanking Chris into a van after they finished shooting that mid-credits scene where Bucky returns to cryo, because it was HEARTBREAKING. I hope the poor actors had at least a giant drink afterwards. Although in [that backstage interview where Chris is teasing Sebastian about "not doing some horrible thing in your private life" and Sebastian actually facepalms](https://youtu.be/mFcE5mzEbQc?t=2m18s) they look like they're having fun, so I hope they did.


End file.
